


Lines

by bearwald



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Romance, uhh not really no one /actually/ gets together in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2657915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearwald/pseuds/bearwald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Alfred thinks, life is easier when it’s math. Math consists of graphs, and on those graphs are lines. Tangent lines, parallel lines, and asymptotes. These lines are just like people— they meet, they fall apart, they pass by. They move around each other by laws of the universe, rules that can’t be broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Idea based off of this post: http://sebastianzwingli.tumblr.com/post/103298386192/ufuckingpastry-theheartmaid

Sometimes, Alfred thinks, life is easier when it’s math. Emotions are hard to understand, unfamiliar and distant from what he knows. He never really understood them. But numbers and rules, he understands those just fine.

Math consists of graphs, and on those graphs are lines. Tangent lines, parallel lines, and asymptotes. These lines are just like people— they meet, they fall apart, they pass by. They move around each other by laws of the universe, rules that can’t be broken. People follow the same rules math does, even if they don’t realize it. The rules tell Alfred that he will never not trip over the cord running across the hall, and that Matthew will always smile and wave politely to him when they pass on their morning walks, and that Alfred will always grin and shout “good morning, stranger!” as Matthew disappears in the morning fog. That’s just the way the world is.

Tangent lines are, by definition, “a line that touches a curve at a point without crossing over. Formally, it is a line which intersects a differentiable curve at a point where the slope of the curve equals the slope of the line”. Two lines that meet once, and then part, in simpler terms. A curve pulls one away, on it’s own path, while the other continues moving forward.

Alfred’s older brother, Arthur, has always been known to be a bit of a stick in the mud. He dampens the mood wherever he goes, pulling a rain cloud of a foul mood and a glare around with him like it’s a beloved pet. He doesn’t really blame him, he’s always just been doing his best to be a good brother, it can be tiring. His life has been straight and narrow, shooting towards some unforeseen goal he seemed desperate to find. When he was little, Alfred had always assumed Arthur knew what he was doing, that he had some plan in mind. Lately, he thinks Arthur has as little an idea of where he’s going as Alfred does. But still, he moves forward.

Francis Bonnefoy was an unseen curveball in Alfred’s life. He had lived in France his whole life, and suddenly, he felt the urge to travel to England. He got on a plane, and left. He had always been spontaneous, Alfred was told. He never really knew where he was going or why, but he followed his gut instincts, and he always ended up in the right place. The right place, that day, happened to be colliding with Arthur on the empty streets. Arthur never shared much with Alfred about his first meeting with Francis, but Francis told him it was magical. “Like from a fairytale, where I am the princess, and your dear brother is the frog!” Alfred was only a kid, and he assumed Francis’ words meant he would be there with them forever.

For a week he stayed, laughing and playing with Alfred, taking tours with Arthur around town. Alfred had to agree with Francis on one thing, it was magical. For a week Arthur’s cloud was gone. He faked one, but Alfred liked to think he could see through it. He knew Francis could, at the very least. After only knowing his brother for a few days, Francis could read him like an open book.

On Sunday morning, Alfred woke up and Francis was gone. Suddenly, without warning, life had pulled him away, off onto some other adventure, some other gut feeling he had to follow.

Arthur was asked to follow. He didn’t.

They were like tangent lines, Alfred had decided. Francis would forever curve his own way, but still for one fleeting moment, his line had crossed Arthur’s. Even if they never could cross again.

Alfred could only ever describe the relationship between Ludwig and Feliciano as being separated by some asymptote. They moved closer together each day, looking as though maybe somehow they would collide, but they never did. Ludwig inched towards Feliciano with each passing moment, convinced each small step would bring them together. Feliciano moved in leaps and bounds, trying with all his might to get to Ludwig.

Ludwig had grown up in Germany, and Feliciano had grown up in Italy, as far apart from his friend as he could bear. They spoke, of course, but never saw each other. Each day Feliciano woke up to a good morning text from Ludwig, and each night Ludwig fell asleep to a ‘good night!” text from Feliciano. They had a system that worked for them, they had promised. Alfred doubted it, but had kept his mouth shut. As years passed, they saved up money, planning to meet in person at least once. The date was set, the flights were booked, and Ludwig waited at the airport gates for three hours, fifteen minutes, and seventeen seconds before he left. Feliciano never arrived, and Ludwig was never told why. No flights crashed, there were no delays.

For a while, Alfred believed maybe some people really were meant to meet. After that, he was convinced maybe no one really is.

The most cruel pair of lines though, are parallel. They’re the exact same, so close, travelling right along past each other their entire lives, but they never meet.

Alfred isn’t sure he knows anyone who fits those lines though. He thinks maybe the universe is just working in his favor.

“Good morning, stranger!”

“Morning, Alfred.”


End file.
